


Wicked Fantasies

by Tsundere_Icecream



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsundere_Icecream/pseuds/Tsundere_Icecream





	Wicked Fantasies

 

It’s nearly 11pm and Sherlock is still shuffling around John’s house. He put Rosie down a couple hours ago. He knows he should gonto sleep himself ao he can be up early when she gets up. 

 

He walks back to the guest room 

 

Sherlock is awakened by the front door of John's house being opened. He jumps up, gasping in fear.

He's normally a sound sleeper but when he watches Rosie his heart never lets him quite fall into a deep slumber as he might otherwise. watching Rosie he's always afraid of 

 

He doesn't mean to stay. It's when he presses his face to John's sheets, his pillow, and the redolent, familiar scent of sweat, aftershave

 

God youre illegally pretty.

 

its seems to gononw forever. Hes lost track of timw how long John ruta against him. He’s bruised and aching ans skin burning. Cant imagin that Searing cock inside him.

 

“Sherlock!” He snarls his name. 

Mary.

Sherlock's wakened by the front door opening. John's come home early. He was going to spend the entire weekend drinking with his army buddies Sherlock looked down on him, his gaze sweeping him from head to toe. He reached down and touched John’s hair, running his fingers through it. At this touch, a shiver ran through John’s body and he wanted to speak. A torrent of unspoken words, trapped inside of him for the year he had known Sherlock, welled up and caught in his throat, but he forced them back and remained silent. If this was, in fact, a dream, he might feel safe enough to say them, if not… well he wasn’t ready for that yet, wasn’t sure he’d ever be.

Sherlock’s fingers traced John’s lips, chin, and jaw. He moved down to John’s collarbone. Suddenly John realized his tee shirt was gone. He was certain he’d had it on when he woke. Checkmark in the “it’s a dream” column.

Sherlock continued to look at John, without smiling, intent, his blue cat-like eyes glittering.

He was wearing what he always wore, a dark form fitting suit. He was also wearing that damnable purple shirt, the one that perfectly contrasted with his pale skin and dark hair. How John wondered if he looked as good under his clothing as he looked in it. He’d never actually seen Sherlock naked before. He could feel another shiver pass through his body, settling between his legs where he felt the beginnings of an erection.

As if reading John’s mind, Sherlock took off his jacket, and carefully folding it, placed it on a nearby chair. However, he did not disrobe further. Instead, he sat on the bed next to John. John’s gaze focused on those perfect lips as he watched them move closer. Sherlock bent and kissed him. His tongue slid into John’s mouth, searching. John could smell him, feel his heat.

Oh God, oh God, oh bloody motherfucking hell!

Sherlock cupped John’s face in his hands and continued to kiss him slowly but hungrily. John’s mind was whirling, and he felt like he was falling through space as he closed his eyes and let himself be kissed. He did not ever want to stop this…this... whatever it was that was happening to him.

Sherlock moved his kisses to John’s neck and ears. He kissed John's shoulders, his scar. John kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the feel of hot breath against his skin, the lips ghosting across his chest, pausing to circle a nipple with a tongue, causing John to gasp and arch his back.

Sherlock’s lips continued their journey down John’s body until he reached the top of the pyjama pants. He ran his tongue slowly under the waistband across John’s belly, the tip of it sliding over the end of John’s dripping cock as it went. He grasped the pyjama bottoms, pulled them down John’s legs, then tossed them to the floor.

John lay fully exposed before Sherlock, who now stood beside the bed. Helpless, with his hands tied and his cock hard, John breathed shallowly and wondered what would come next. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Sherlock smiled, an almost devilish grin. He picked up one of the burning candles from the bedside table and held it over John’s shoulder.

“John, if you tell me to stop, I will. I will end this and let you go.”

John said nothing.

Sherlock tipped the candle and a drop of hot wax fell, landing on John’s collarbone. He inhaled sharply, arching his back involuntarily. Sherlock placed another burning drop on a forearm tied above John’s head, then between his nipples, then on his stomach, then his hip. John could not believe how this burning pain felt so delicious. Sherlock paused interminably between each drip, making him wait, prepare, anticipate.

When he finally dripped the hot wax on the tender flesh of John’s inner thigh, John could not contain himself any longer and cried out, “Sherlock!”

“Shh,” Sherlock warned, but put down the candle.

John was panting now, and as he looked at Sherlock, he could see the outline of arousal under his trousers.

If only my hands were free I could reach out and touch it. God, I want to touch him.

Sherlock unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

John pulled at the restraints that bound his wrists. This is so unfair! He wanted to embrace Sherlock, to touch him and run his fingers through his hair as he had imagined doing so many times. He wanted desperately to tell him that he loved him and had wanted him since the day they met. Tears of frustration came to John’s eyes.

Sherlock was now on the bed on all fours over John and his mouth quickly enveloped John’s cock. John looked down and saw Sherlock’s curly hair, saw his lips around his cock, saw him slide down, taking him impossibly deep. Felt the velvety hot smoothness of his mouth. Sherlock stroked him relentlessly and John felt heat building in his belly.

Sherlock placed his hands under John’s thighs and pressed them upwards, tilting his hips, then removing his mouth from John’s cock, moved it downward across his bollocks to his arsehole, kissing and licking as he went. Sherlock’s tongue teased John’s opening, circling it. John gasped with pleasure. Sherlock’s tongue darted forward into John. He alternated between licking and penetrating. Licking and penetrating. The sensation was overwhelming. Sherlock’s hand went to John’s cock and he stroked it while fucking John with his tongue.

"Sherlock, Oh Sherlock. Oh God, I’m going to come!” he cried out.

He had imagined being with Sherlock before, but this was so real, so fucking real.

John came, spurting ribbons of semen over his belly as his hips bucked, Sherlock’s tongue still buried deep in his arse.

John closed his eyes as he spasmed and writhed and gasped for air.

 

 

“I like the way it sounds coming from those pretty little lips of yours, Peter.”

 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112070

Stay Awake PandoraChaos

 

 

“I merely pointed out that I have an unusually large penis,” Sherlock said. Still at a normal volume, which meant literally every officer within earshot stopped to eavesdrop. “John finds that a turn-on and he’s never previously gotten to indulge. Also that I--”

 

 

Instead, he concentrates on Stephen’s body, something to focus his mind on. He’s got broad toned shoulders and strong collarbones. He’s more muscular than Peter would have imagined under his clothing, particularly his arms, and unlike Tony his chest is completely hairless. There are a few small moles dotted across his milky skin like a constellation, and barely visible, Peter can see a littering of tiny white scars. He’s seen the scars on Strange’s hands before but these are lighter, not so deep. There’s just so many of them.

 

“I like the way it sounds coming from those pretty little lips of yours, Peter.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and turned the key in the ignition. He looked over at John, who seemed to be struggling to wake up. Panic attack.

John flailed his arms about and screamed, falling onto the floor, undoing his seatbelt of course, and kicking his feet like a small child. Sherlock rushed onto the floor, taking him into his arms and pressing his face into his chest.

“No! NO! I will not let you do this!” John struggled to push Sherlock away, but he was much stronger and continued to squeeze John in his arms. John slapped Sherlock everywhere he could, his eyes still closed and tears now streaming down his face.

“Wake up, John. John, wake up.” Sherlock pressed his fingers into John’s head and continued to hold him. John had stopped struggling and clung onto Sherlock, sobbing hysterically, digging his fingers into Sherlock’s back.

“Sherlock..”

“I’m here. It’s okay.” Sherlock frowned and put his chin on top of John’s head, rocking him gently back and forth. “Tell me what happened. Was it a war memory?”

 

 

 

Imitating him, Sherlock put his hands on John’s face, too; with his thumbs he stroked the cheekbones, the profile of the nose and the eyebrow arch.

It was strange, but not unpleasant.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, but then he snapped it shut and shrugged, as if he were ashamed of his thoughts.

"Please," John insisted.

"You have a beautiful bone structure, you are symmetrical and proportionate. You think I'm weird, aren’t you?"

John smiled sweetly. "Why should I? You just told me I'm beautiful."

 

 

"Never." Sherlock practically  _purred_  into John's ear. John  _shuddered_ under the spell of Sherlock's deep voice. "Let go, John."

 

 

 

Sherlock laughed and kissed his lips harshly, hearing the clink of their teeth hitting slightly. John's hand slithered around underneath them until it grabbed Sherlock's extremely protruding erection.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asked as John stroked his cock gently, smirking.

"If you are." And with that being said, Sherlock's hands pulled down John's underwear and he now positioned on his stomach, legs and hands supporting him up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Here,” John said, and stopped pushing Sherlock’s dressing gown off to press it tight against Sherlock’s biceps. Sherlock froze his arms mid reach, elbows trapped against his torso and his hands outstretched toward John’s waist. Sherlock’s eyes flicked back and forth into John’s for five heartbeats (John) and one breath (Sherlock), and then his chin dropped in a stiff nod. John resumed, shoving the robe off behind him and starting on his shirt buttons. Sherlock’s fingers traced over John’s back, inching lower to untuck his shirt tails and reach skin. John slowed his own hands to give Sherlock more time.

“Here,” John said, because he didn’t know what this was or what it would do to them, and if it happened in the room where they worked then the rest of 221B would still be home. Maybe Sherlock would deduce that, or maybe he wouldn’t care, but John wasn’t about to explain. Not now, and possibly not ever. He shuddered then as Sherlock pulled his vest up over his head and the cool air chilled the sweat on the small of John’s back. Or possibly because the edge of Sherlock’s stubble had just ghosted lightly over the tip of John’s nipple.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock furrowed his brow. “I am human. I’m just smarter than everyone.” He stole a kiss from John’s lips.

“Is that so?” John giggled and thrust his pelvis against Sherlock’s. “Can you resist this though? If you’re smarter, you’ll realize that this is wrong. But you’d want it anyways, because you’re the same as me, Sherlock.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are.” John began to nibble on Sherlock’s neck, smiling as his hand found Sherlock’s warm thigh and he began to rub, inching towards his growing erection. Sherlock threw his head back softly and closed his eyes.

“John.. don’t.”

“Shh.” John put his finger to Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock pursed his lips together, quieting himself. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“I want to see your bedroom.”

“You’ve already seen my bedroom, John.”

John sighed and bumped his forehead against Sherlock’s. “You’re hopeless, Sherlock.” Grabbing him by the hand, John led him into the bedroom down the hall, “Now, I need to ask you something. Understand?”

“You’re going to ask me whether I’ve done this or not.” Sherlock knew the question before it even came and he wasn’t surprised that John asked. It was only standard that someone would ask that question before coitus with either female or male. There was that one time in college before he dropped out, where his roommate David was bi-curious, and Sherlock also being that way, decided to aid David in his confused sexuality. But there was no penetration in that act. Only the oral. Either way, Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed the most of it, but David graduated before Sherlock dropped out and he never received a new roommate who was the same.

He also never participated in anything sexual other than himself for that matter. And now was his chance.

“I’ve had little experience in this, but I’m capable of doing it.”

“Well. We don’t have to do anything, really. Just the little bits and pieces that come with it, usually forepla-“ John was interrupted by hands. Strong hands that pushed him back onto Sherlock’s bed and he fell on his back.

“You talk too much. You’re nervous; you’re sweating and your body heat has extended. I can also hear the change in your heart beat.”

“Sherlock, can you for once not go all ‘detective’ on me?” John frowned slightly and blew air out of his mouth in a slight whistling sound.

“I suppose I can stay away from deducing anything right now.” He slipped off of John and unbuttoned his slacks, sliding them off and letting them hit the floor with a light thud. His erection was completely noticeable underneath his boxer briefs; it protruded greatly and John eyed it, gulping.

“You don’t look very small.”

“Not to boast, but I’m not.” Smiling his rare smile for a quick second, he slipped off his coat and dress shirt, fingers working majestically as he undid the buttons. It was his purple shirt. That purple, soft, luxurious shirt that John loved him in. He let it slide to the floor, making no sound when it hit the carpet. Now all that was left was his underwear, which he wouldn’t be taking off for some time.

John began to work his jumper off, but Sherlock’s hands slid onto John’s belly, running upwards and aiding John in taking his clothing off. Sherlock’s touch made John tremble and he smiled softly. “Your hands are cold.”

“Everything on me is cold. Unemotional remember?” Sherlock unzipped John’s trousers and slid them down to his ankles. He kissed John’s inner thigh, feeling the warmth from below glow upon his face. He made his way upwards and kissed John’s stomach now, John closing his eyes and putting his head back.

“You know, usually if someone is inexperienced, they’d let the other person do it.” John smirked.

“I’m not a normal person, excuse you, and I’ve had semi-experience. That does not mean I don’t know how to please someone.” Sherlock mashed his lips against John’s and forced his tongue between his teeth. John released his grip and let Sherlock explore his mouth, feeling around with his mouth and tongue and brushing it against John’s. He explored everything; the walls of John’s mouth, the ridges in his teeth and the chapped lines of his lips. He had expected everything to be perfect, but it wasn’t. John was far too rough with his tongue, his lips were chapped, and his breathing was off.

But Sherlock knew it was just a part of what they were doing. John had probably never been with a man, and then all of a sudden he was in love with one; his best friend. How nerve racking it must have been.

He continued to kiss John, them both moving their lips in identical notions and brushing their tongues together. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you’re good at this.” Sherlock said nothing back, but removed his mouth from John’s, pressing both of their foreheads together. John licked his lips, eyeing every detail of Sherlock’s face. His cupids bow, his pale eyes which seem to hold little to no emotion, his pale complexion, and his dark matted hair. He was gorgeous.

Sherlock had carefully already planned this in his head. This for him wasn’t going to be some sort of one night stand. It was going to be romantic and it was going to last as long as he wanted. Not the sex, but their relationship itself. Kissing John’s head, he smiled slightly and sighed. “Are you ready?”

“I am if you are. Please don’t be the person that regrets this.”

“I don’t want to regret this, John. Never in my life... would I want to forget this.” Kissing John’s stomach, he trailed down to his belly button and left his lips above it. With his free hand, the other one holding himself up, he slipped off John’s underwear and flung it across the room. He quickly took John into his mouth, triggering off some sort of reaction inside of John, causing his head to fly backwards onto the pillow. He let out a slight moan, and clenched his fists, grabbing the sheets. Licking his lips, not once but twice, both top and bottom, he sighed gently and released his grip, getting accustomed to what was going on.

Sherlock continued to move his mouth up and down, his hands also searching for something to grip, like John’s inner thigh. He smoothed across it softly, his hands gentle and unbelievably cold to the touch. John shuddered, thrusting upward slightly, causing Sherlock to back up his head a little.

“Sorry! I told you that you were cold. You frightened me.” Sherlock took John out and smiled slightly.

“No. I apologize, I honestly should’ve let you be the one to do this. You’d be softer, I know you.”

“I love it rough, though.” And with that, John put his hands on Sherlock’s head, ushering him down once again to take him inside. He smiled and gladly accepted his cock. Bobbing his head up and down, he swirled his tongue around the tip of John’s member, making John gasp with excitement and relaxation. He began to move faster, pursing his lips tightly so it felt better when he would pull up. John built up and up, until finally his calves tightened, his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut. He released into Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock happily swallowed it all, wiping his upper lip and laying his head down on John’s stomach.

John’s head pounded and he panted harshly. His lips were extremely dry and swollen and he was badly craving a drink. “Sherlock..”

“I already know.” Sherlock pulled on his sweatpants he had kept from a former case and walked out of the bedroom, into the kitchen to fill a glass with ice water.

Walking back, he entered the room to find John finally relaxed and breathing soundly. He had also quickly gotten under the bed covers, presumably still naked.

Sherlock set the glass down on the nightstand and walked over to his side of the bed, slipping underneath the covers to join him.

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?”


End file.
